


Darian Tabris: A Return to the Alienage

by KayaniAmber



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 10:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16911330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayaniAmber/pseuds/KayaniAmber
Summary: A response to the following Reddit writing prompt:Prompt 3: Drabble 100 Words:Bonus Prompt: Freeform: Nice is not stupid.https://www.reddit.com/r/dragonage/comments/9xxcca/spoilers_alloctime_to_be_storytellers_the_dragon/Warden Tabris returns to the Alienage as part of the Landsmeet. The combat has been left out.





	Darian Tabris: A Return to the Alienage

“Excuse me, Ser. Do you have any coin to spare for a war veteran who lost his foot fighting at Ostagar?”

Darian's head snapped around to look at the other elf. _An elven war veteran from Ostagar? Sure. And I'm the Archon of Tevinter. Wait. I know that elf. Camet? Have I really changed so much that Camet doesn't recognize me?_

“Of course,” Darian replied warmly. “Here you go.” He gave Camet a gold coin. Camet muttered a thanks and ran off. Darian felt Zevran's hand in the small of his back. “I know, Zev,” he acknowledged, not taking his eye off Camet. He'd heard things were bad in the Alienage, but how did it get _this_ bad in the year he'd been gone? Zevran chuckled behind him and took a step back.

“So long as you know what you're doing,” Zev remarked. Darian nodded. 

“He seems to run pretty well for having a wooden foot,” Alistair commented, sounding impressed. 

“He wasn't at Ostagar. Camet's never been out of Denerim in his life,” Darian informed him with a slight chuckle.

“Friend of yours?” Alistair asked. Darian nodded.

“We grew up together.”

“And he didn't recognize you?” 

Darian sighed. Camet had returned with friends.

“This is another war veteran...”

_Gaelan. Of course. Where there's one, there's the other._

“...and an orphan. Orphan, err...Ollie!” Camet announced.

_Yevel._

“Uhh, that's right! My mother is _especially dead,_ ” Ollie/Yevel lied.

Darian heard Zevran's irritated growl behind him. Alistair chuckled quietly. _Now...you can call them on their bullshit, or you can give each of them a gold coin, which, if they are careful with it, will feed them for over a year. You remember what it's like down here. Not having to worry about your food bill for a year is a massive relief._

_If they don't just spend it on wine._

_I will take that chance. I have to do_ something _to help here,_ Darian finally decided. Yevel started to fidget in front of him. 

“Here you go,” Darian offered gently, giving the two new elves a nod, and parting with two more gold coins. They grinned at him, expressed their thanks, and ran off.

“Are you done yet?” Zevran snapped. “Can we get back to work now?”

“They'll be back,” Darian answered, somewhat vaguely.

“And what will you do then, hm?” Zevran demanded, spinning Darian around to face him. “What happens when they come back with half the Alienage?” 

Darian reached towards Zevran and rested his hands on the blonde elf's waist. Zevran sighed heavily.

“We do what we can to help here,” Darian countered gently. “We have 800 sovereigns back at camp. We can be generous here, where its needed the most.”

Zevran glared at him and started cursing in Antivan.

“Zevran,” Darian interjected in a commanding, yet quiet voice. “I was born here. These are my friends, my family. We've been fortunate in our travels, and I _will not_ abandon my people to starvation and poverty. Not when I can do something to help them, right here, right now.”

Zevran sighed and looked into Darian's turquoise eyes. The assassin's heart was hard and cynical, always distrusting and expecting to be taken advantage of. His was a mindset crafted by years of Crow training in Antiva. Darian's was a mindset crafted by a lifetime of family, community, and his faith in the Chant. He was good, and generous, and kind. It wasn't possible for Zevran to love him more in that moment, or be more exasperated by him.

“Think back to the brothel, Zevran. If you could send each of them 10 sovereigns to get them out of their situation, would you do it?”

“I...” Zevran sighed, feeling cornered. “Yes,” he admitted after a long moment.

“Do you need anything, Darian?” Wynne offered. 

Darian dropped his hands from Zevran's waist and nodded at her. 

“How much coin do we have here between us?” Darian asked.

“Enough,” Alistair answered with a slight smile, handing his gold coins over to the copper-haired elf. Wynne did the same, as did Zevran, though he was reluctant to do so.

“Thank you, all,” Darian quietly said, putting the collected coins in his pouch. “Remember how much you had and reimburse yourselves from the party's funds when we get back to camp.” 

Sure enough, Camet came back with several more elves, and Darian was happy to pass out coin to all of them. Finally, someone in the crowd recognized him. 

“D...Darian? Darian Tabris? Cyrion's son?” a quivering voice called out. 

The rest of the elves in the crowd fell silent and looked at him. Darian simply nodded, with a smile. The elves looked at the gold coin he'd given them and hung their heads, suddenly ashamed. Darian handed his coin pouch to Zevran and stepped forward into the crowd. Camet looked at him in disbelief.

“Th....the...they said you were dead,” Camet managed to stammer. Darian chuckled, and tapped on his armor with a twinkle in his eye.

“I feel pretty solid for a ghost,” he quipped, drawing chuckles from the crowd. “I only ask one thing from you all: be careful when spending that coin. I expect you'll get a bottle or two of wine here and there, but,” he paused and took a breath, “if you're careful with that, it'll keep food on the table for about a year, possibly two. Take care of yourselves, and each other. And, where's Yevel?” 

An elf with short blonde hair stepped forward, looking especially miserable. 

“Give this to Ionne,” Darian ordered, giving him the last gold coin in his hand. “You owe your mother _that_ much.”

********

_The next morning, after shutting down the slaver's den and clearing out the demons in the orphanage:_

Exiting the orphanage, Darian fell to the ground. He barely heard Wynne and Alistair sniffling behind him as they struggled with their emotions. Zevran paced, cursing in Antivan. Darian closed his eyes and tried to breathe, his rage threatening to overcome him. Ser Otto’s blood was caked on his face, along with the brimstone smell of remnants of rage demon. 

_When the guards came through to quell the unrest in the Alienage, they started their slaughter in the orphanage._

Ser Otto’s words rang in Darian’s ears. He punched both fists into the ground with a growl. A ghostly blue-ish white wave spread from him, inadvertently cleansing all magic in the area. For a moment, the terrified anguish of the children’s ghosts in the building behind him was silent. He didn’t see the blue-white wave of energy starting to swirl around him. He wanted to drag Loghain down here, by his hair if necessary, and kill the son of a bitch with his bare hands. Right in the middle of the Alienage. A hand on his shoulder broke his thoughts. He opened his eyes, finally, a hard glare meeting the ground in front of him. If that hand was Alistair’s, not even the Maker himself would be able to stop him. He slowly turned his head and looked at the hand. 

_Zevran._

Darian gasped, his eyes going wide, unable to hold in his tears any longer. He shuddered, harmlessly releasing the Holy Smite he’d subconsciously been charging. Darian slumped over and broke down, sobbing into his gloved hands. Zevran sat on his knees in front of him and tugged Darian close to him. The two elves held each other tightly and cried. After several minutes, Darian regained some composure. Zevran kissed his temple and wiped the tears from the Templar’s face. 

“I am sorry, my love,” the Antivan whispered, struggling with his own emotions. “I am so sorry.” 

Darian said nothing, but hugged him tight and buried his face in Zevran’s shoulder. After a moment, he lifted his head, panting a bit while he got his emotions under control. Darian balled up his fists and slowly stood, his face barely containing his anger. 

“Darian…” Zevran softly called to him, the concern clear on his face.

The copper-haired Templar slowly turned around, glaring at Alistair. With slow measure steps, he walked over to the golden-armored human, getting right in his face. 

“If you are still alive when this is all over, and if there’s still a Ferelden left for you to rule over,” he raged, “promise me you will do _everything_ you can to _fix this,_ ” he hissed angrily, pointing at the alienage.

Alistar swallowed hard and nodded numbly, taken aback by Darian’s rage. He was normally so calm and composed, Alistair truly had no idea how to talk to him when he was like this. Very gently, and trying to be comforting, he placed both hands on Darian’s arms. 

“Absolutely anything and everything within my power, I promise,” the blonde human committed. “Anything I can do to make sure _this_ never happens again in Ferelden.”

Darian lowered his arm, and softened his expression, nodding to Alistair. If anyone else had said it, he would not have believed it.

“Good.” Reaching behind him, Darian pulled Zevran to his feet. “Now, let’s get you on the throne.”


End file.
